


tua amiga, amante, serpente, meu doce bem

by orphan_account



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/F, Ineffable Wives | Female Aziraphale/Female Crowley (Good Omens), Porn with Feelings, Romantic Fluff, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:07:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25212160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Living a facade together, Aziraphale and Crowley allow themselves to have an quite pleasing affair.Title from "Intimidade", by Liniker e os Caramelows.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	tua amiga, amante, serpente, meu doce bem

**Author's Note:**

> hey... hope you enjoy

The demon gently pressed both index and middle fingers inside her angel, getting her pleasurable, sinful yet so glorified moans she could’ve hear from such holy being. 

Crowley kept eating her even if her hair falls on her face, making it difficult to suck and lick Aziraphale’s clit. But the angel likes it. She likes to feel her ginger hair tickling the inner of her thighs and on her pelvis, along with the talented tongue working on her building orgasm. The more Aziraphale squirms, smashes Crowley’s head slightly and moves her hips almost as if she’s riding her face — the angel wants it so badly, but she can leave it for the next hour —, the more she moans lewd words that surely concerns on the demon’s pride. 

Crowley knows she does it good and prides herself on it as if she’s a peacock with long and majestically reddened feathers. Once she looks up and lock her eyes on Aziraphale’s, she knows that, by the red on her face and the way she bites her mouth, she might be close to giving her an overwhelming, out-of-this-world orgasm. One of the angel’s hands goes to her own boob, pressing her nipples between fingers and stimulating herself even more. 

The demon cannot help herself but pick the pillow on the bed, next to the angel, and put it between her thighs, under her. She began to ride it slowly through Aziraphale’s eyes, her attention caught by the movements she does and gasping for air when Crowley’s mouth began to vibrate in moans right on her clit. Feels better than any sex toy produced until now. 

Crowley takes her hands off the blonde, only to place them on the pillow as her movement became quickier. She doesn’t stop licking, though, and pushes Aziraphale’s body closer to the edge of the bed, leaving the angel on her tiptoes even if she’s still sitting. The angel feels as if she’s _literally_ closer to the edge, her pleasure growing to the point she feels spasms hitting both her legs, mostly the one whose thigh is gripped in the demon’s hand. 

Aziraphale moaned loudly as she couldn’t hold it back anymore. She _craved_ for it. Her body _claimed_ for the relief that comes right after the majestical orgasm. 

Crowley murmured something on her clit — and Aziraphale didn’t repress the lewd groans and moans that came out of her adorable red-drawn lips. She almost fell to the bed, riding (still quite as riding) Crowley’s face to feel and absorb every sensation that goes along with cumming on her mouth and letting her taste it. The ginger — who was already aroused by everything the angel provided for this evening — cursed madly at her own breath as she felt the thighs hit her face once more, hearing Aziraphale’s raspy voice calling her name. 

The demon didn’t even held it back. She let herself drown in her pleasure and let it go, not even fighting against to last longer; because nothing was better than be the one whose name is called at the pinnacle of pleasure, mostly when it’s someone she deeply loves and desires. Crowley came hard on the pillow beneath her, riding it quickly as the orgasm melts her in relief from all the accumulated horny thoughts she’s been dealing with. 

As the feeling passes and leaves both of them with an inebriated sensation, Crowley takes her mouth off Aziraphale’s pussy and laughs at herself. The pillow whom she was dry humping was wet, and by getting up, she could see a drip of her lubrification falling to the fabric. 

How elegant. 

Aziraphale, however, wasn’t bothered. She had fallen on the bed since she saw Crowley cumming, slowly getting hit with tiredness. Now, all she wanted to do was to cuddle with her lovely demon. 

And Crowley did it so. She fully got up — legs weak from such effort by fucking a pillow — and rested next to her lover. 

Their hands intertwined by Aziraphale’s insistence. Only one gesture needed for their serenity flourish in the room and blend itself with lust, leaving what would be if Heaven and Hell became one in one place. Nobody would be there to presence such rarity; but then, no one need to be there at all. It only belonged to the principality and the demon, not for anyone else or whatever the fuck who would bother their peace on Earth. 

As long as they got each other’s backs, that’s the enough. 

Now, Crowley locked her eyes on Aziraphale’s, the serpentines lost on blues and vice-versa like a romantic song sang by Frank Sinatra. The angel’s blonde curls were messy, spreaded in the sheets with a few strands glued on her neck. She’s always proud of her chubby body, her curves and stretch marks whom she loves. On the other hand, if Crowley looked beyond the angel’s silhouette and saw the mirror next to the bed, she would see how her red hair was incredibly messed up — by the angel’s constant pulls while sucking — and how her lips were swollen and dirty with red lipstick. Not bad, though; quite interesting. Quite pretty coming from the love of two women. 

“Will you stay for the night?” The angel asked, taking Crowley’s attention off the mirror. Serpentine eyes locked once again on hers. 

“I will, my angel,” she said lovingly. With her free hand, she caressed the angel’s pinky cheek and placed a strand of a curl behind her ear, sliding her fingers through her face; forming a trail to her neck and then softly caressing her hair. “But I have to go early in the morning, I hope you don’t mind it.”

Aziraphale was, along with the tiredness from the intense orgasm she had, already falling asleep, her answer being only a murmured “yes”. Crowley understood that she probably wouldn’t remember that later (or earlier?) and simply let her in peace, sleeping in the comfort of her heartwarming touch and the sinful yet so tempting love that bind them. 

Crowley pulled Aziraphale close enough so they would end up on each other’s embrace. She felt the angel’s nose on her clavicle and her curls under her chin; skin on skin and legs intertwined. Crowley felt some kind of peace that wouldn’t be found on any place but on her embrace.

The demon fell asleep on the angel’s arms. 

  
  


Nobody could tell that Angela Z. Fell, conceptual and respectable lyric singer, is secretly a lower ranking angel, Heaven’s most clumsy employee. Neither that Antonia J. Crowley, one of the most talented violinists out there, is a demon that carries around the title of “bastard”. 

They’ve met way long before the jazz and the opera, rock ‘n’ roll from Queen or classics from Beethoven; but never (ever) shared a deep conversation about their sides, just a few dinners whose one didn’t want to be alone and the other was down to be a company, even though they wouldn’t see each other in the other day. There was a fear that their bosses (not Satan neither the Almighty, but the Prince of Hell and a _really_ stupid Archangel) would find it out and would screw with the slow-burn-building relationship they’ve growing by those little encounters; that followed from unpretentious meals to actually sharing deep conversations. Then, that common hang-up turned into visiting each other’s homes and spending some good time together. 

Crowley liked to play violin as her own suitable way to express her emotions. 

Aziraphale loved to sing, even though she was absolutely shy about it. 

It was meant that both beings from both sides should be discreet in their existence and simply pretend that they’re invisible in humanity’s lens. 

But Crowley was a _hell_ of a bastard and Aziraphale was too much of an awkward angel to be cared about. From boredom and ongoing existential crisis, they turned in the other way around by giving a chance to be someone different; someone that wasn’t driven by the fear of their own creators; someone artistically free. 

And that’s how they found out they were in love with each other. 

  
  


Crowley assumed that was around five o’clock when she woke up, and six o’clock when she decided to get up and leave. 

Monday mornings wasn’t her thing and she usually wakes up annoyed. Time isn’t a matter for her to be bothered, though, but the thought of returning to her double-faced routine always makes her eyes roll. 

Today wouldn’t be different in a few hours when the sun fully shines in the sky. The only good exception is that she’s at Aziraphale’s company. 

She spent a worthy one hour staring at her lover. As said before, time isn’t quite a matter for Antonia — but when it comes to Angela, she feels as if everything around them stops and the angel becomes the highlight of the show. The demon makes sure to affirm this statement once in a while. Because once in a concert in Sydney, she was there to presence the apex of her glory; the moment Angela had hit the higher notes and no instrument was needed to follow her but the fastened heartbeat of Antonia’s pinning heart. Felt like caged feelings singing at the same time inside Antonia’s chest within the vibration of her voice, calling her name in a choir. 

Time still isn’t a matter; but it feels as if she had fallen in love yesterday and every day every time she hears her voice. 

As much as Crowley’s ears were good enough to detect and discern musical notes, it was good for noticing when a discreet rain began to pour in Soho. 

Then, slowly, she started the day. Didn’t needed to walk on her tiptoes on the way to the bathroom, taking a short yet relaxing bath before wrapping herself in a robe that Aziraphale had brought (miracled) in her exact body shape. Still sneaky, she walked downstairs, prepping some morning coffee for both of them. Crowley knew she liked coffee on everyday’s mornings, leaving the hot cocoa by the late afternoons and weekends. In the meantime, the ginger opened the window and let the sweet smell of wet dirt come along with the cold breeze she wasn’t that much accustomed with. 

Then she walked upstairs. She picked up her clothes — always wearing black suits with black shirts and black jeans — and combed her hair. Crowley stood there, staring at her serpentine eyes and liking how they’re at first place. It took some time to accept her true beauty, and slowly but surely she’s getting along with the fact that she’s majestically wonderful. 

A soft snore came out of Aziraphale’s mouth. She would wake her up, but there’s no need to rush. Not now, when rain is pouring, the sun is still rising and she’s clearly having a nice dream. 

Now with the shoes, her steps weren’t discreet anymore. 

Aziraphale slowly began to awaken. 

But Crowley didn’t see it. She walked towards the kitchen and gave small sips on the coffee, not much hungry for it. Leaving often gives a bad taste to a mouth full of venom. Knowing that it would take long until they’ll met again makes her chest narrow, yearning for the next time. 

Well — there was nothing Crowley could do much about it but hide it with coffee. 

She was stepping towards the front door when she accidentally bumped into a pile of books which Aziraphale didn’t had time to organize, not taking long to put them where they belong to, silently hoping that she hadn’t awaken Aziraphale. The next moment she was already walking back into her roots, opening the door and going outside. 

A few drops of rain were pouring over her silhouette when the door opened again. 

Crowley gasped in surprise. There’s her, the angel whom she truly worships in silence and would fight Heaven and Hell for, with a bed head and a simple pastel pink robe covering her naked body; and in her hand, an umbrella miracled only for Crowley. Aziraphale happens to do that sometimes and the demon should be accustomed with the sudden behavior; but it happens that Aziraphale, well, is the perfect mix of predictable and unexpected at its best. And that, sometimes, Crowley definitely will not see it coming. 

She quickly opened the umbrella and came closer to her lover, covering the taller one. 

“I—,” Aziraphale tried to say it out, but she became too ashamed out of sudden. Crowley, then, stayed in front of her to avoid any embarrassment. She tried it again. “I suppose you’ve forgotten this,” she pointed to the umbrella, “you should be more careful.” 

“But I didn’t brought any umbrella with me, angel,” the ginger remarked. 

A few percentage of shame that painted the angel’s blue eyes vanished as her cheeks became pink, slowly turning itselves to red. 

“Not even a goodbye?” 

Crowley was about to say something, but she believed that nothing would make up for this. The desperate hurry for leaving as sooner as she can — just to not take longer and make it harder, more hurtful — made her forget the most sincere, delicate gesture she could give as a reminder for an another time. 

So she simply leaned in, picking the umbrella out of her hand. Their faces became closer once again, and Antonia locked her serpentine eyes (whose she didn’t hid in the sunglasses) on Angela’s blue and warm ones. And so she leaned more so she could finally kiss her lover. Not deep as lustful nor as lightly as a greeting, just the one that both of them knows better. 

The moment Angela touched Antonia’s face, she broke the kiss and leaned back, their lips just a little apart. The angel’s eyes were closed, but the demon’s ones weren’t. 

“Good morning, my angel,” she said it low, only for the angel in front of her. “Have a nice day.” 

The blonde opened her eyes. The ginger was already with the umbrella on her own and was ready for letting go. Angela stepped back, her bare feet touching the wooden sole of her living room once again as she saw Antonia protected from the rain. 

“Good morning!” She shouted from there and Crowley put the sunglasses on her face with her free hand, smiling as a response. As another response, the ginger blew a kiss in the air before crossing the street and entering the Bentley. 

Aziraphale saw every movement she did, silently wishing that Crowley could’ve stayed for a while. Just a little bit. 

Then she sighed, brushing it off. 

On the other side, inside the Bentley and leaving Soho, Crowley drived with a bright smile on her lips in her way to Hell. 

On this side, however, Aziraphale was heading back to her morning coffee, getting ready for the meetings in Heaven. 

And they would happily keep this little secret without hurting anyone.


End file.
